Moribund Man

An old man's bathroom,
the filth of ill.
He was once great

now crumbling like
the towers
from the hill.

Until that day,
your haggard, wise
and leaning ways
rejoice in
the searing heat
of Halcyon days .

Rejoice, amaze.

Moribund,
muscles waste from
hour to hour,
power ebbs.

Where is your spawn ?
The son whose life you
groaned out
to replace your own,

has grown
and smoked up far away.

Now look at your day

stripped naked.
Shoulder blade a shard of slate,
jutting out, angular
from the cliff of paper skin-
thin, stretched
over violin string ribs

to play a coughing overture,
your war requiem
lost.